Page 66 of All We Thought We Knew

“Thank you for offering to help Fred,” Nash said as he scraped a leftover beef patty into Jake’s bowl. The dog sniffed it, then gingerly picked it up with his teeth and carried it over to his rug to enjoy in comfort.

“It’s the right thing to do.” I met Nash’s gaze. “I know it’s hard for you and Dad to believe this, but I only wanted what was best. For our country. For Mark. Even for you. Going to fight a war on the other side of the world wasn’t best. For anyone.”

“And you may not believe this, but I agree with you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“War is neverbest,” he said, “but sometimes it’s necessary.”

I narrowed my eyes. “If I ask you something, will you give me an honest answer?”

“Always.”

“If you could go back to the summer of ’65, knowing what you know now, would you do anything differently? Would you still go to Vietnam?”

He didn’t respond right away. When he did finally answer, his words weren’t what I expected to hear. “I’d do everything differently.”

“What do you mean?”

He glanced out the window to the stars in the inky sky. “I wouldn’t tell anyone I was joining the military. Not even Mark. Especially not Mark. I’d just catch a bus to Nashville and disappear.”

“I don’t understand. You’d still go to war?”

“I would, but I wouldn’t take Mark with me.” He shook his head, anguish in his eyes. “If I hadn’t talked about becoming a Marine—hadn’t bragged about doing my duty—Mark wouldn’t have gone to ’Nam. He would’ve gone to Vanderbilt with you. He would’ve played football and married Paula.” He turned away. “He wouldn’t’ve died over there. It’s my fault he isn’t here.”

Stunned, I could only stare at him.

For four years, I’d blamed Nash for everything he’d just confessed. I’d been convinced my brother would still be alive if it wasn’t for him. In the months I lived in California, I’d hated Nash. How many times had I wished it was him who’d come home in a body bag instead of my brother?

But now, here in the stillness of the farmhouse, I knew I’d been wrong.

And Nash was wrong too.

“That isn’t true,” I said. When he looked at me, I offered afeeble shrug. “I used to think it was true. I was so angry at you. I was certain you were responsible for Mark going to Vietnam. For taking him away from me.” Tears blurred my vision. “But the truth is, he would’ve gone anyway. He wasn’t the kind of person to let someone else’s decision sway his. He was determined to be a modern-day Dietrich Bonhoeffer.”

Silence stood between us for a long moment.

“Are you saying you forgive me?” Nash asked, his voice full of emotion.

Was I?

Nash wasn’t my enemy, I realized. He was a casualty of war, same as Mark. He’d gone to Vietnam whole and come back broken. So had Fred and countless others. I would still speak out against the wrongs done by our government and military leaders, but I could no longer hate the soldiers. Men who weren’t much different than my brother and his best friend.

“I guess I am.”

His expression eased. “Thank you.”

We didn’t say more on the subject.

When the kitchen was clean and the house quiet, I said, “I thought I’d go through more of those old letters of Mama’s. I could use some company.”

Nash smiled. “Sure thing.”

We settled on the sofa after I went upstairs to retrieve the box. The door to my parents’ room was closed. No sound came from inside. I hoped Mama was resting comfortably. I even hoped Dad could get some rest, too.

“I still think it’s strange that the letters are addressed to someone named Ava Delaney.” I took a folded sheet of paper from one of the envelopes that came from Hawaii. Like those we’d read yesterday, this too was signedYour loving husband, Richard.

We took turns reading out loud as we went through the stack of correspondences, all similar in content. It was clear Richardloved Ava. His anxiousness for her to join him in Hawaii was evident. When we reached the last one, I looked at the postmarked date on the envelope.